Deadpool, son of Ares
by giantgnat
Summary: Um, yeah. Deadpool remembers some of his past, and it has something to do with Greek gods, a bunch of fanatics called the Lords, and a dusty, smelly bronze mirror. Now, Deadpool decides he wants to meet his siblings, and travels to Camp Halfblood Chaos and chimichangas follow.
1. Chapter 1

Deadpool was not having a good day, but then again, not-good-days were generally his idea of good days. The only other sort he had was catastrophic-earth-smashing days.

He blinked at the bronze mirror in front of him. He was sitting in his apartment, on his old sofa which was now springing with springs and was a cherished home to a small community of peaceful cockroaches.

He'd been having a cleaning day. Usually, this consisted of grabbing massive piles of junk and lobbing it all into on Galactus-level pile of junk. Everyone knew that you didn't actually clean anything on cleaning days, didn't they?

Anyways, he had found the bronze mirror quite accidentally when his good old Mr. Huggikins ripped open. After he'd stopped crying over the loss of his dear stuffed bear, he'd noticed the mirror.

At first, he thought it was nothing more than an amateurish attempt by some rotten writer to begin some strange treasure hunting plot, but then the mirror had started to register in his memory and was now trying to log in.

Hence the blink.

"Mirror mirror in my hand," Boomed Deadpool in a dramatic baritone, "How many lame jokes can the reader stand?"

Unsurprisingly, the mirror did not respond.

"CURSE YOU BLOODY THINGAMIJ!" He roared smashing it on the floor repeatedly, as if locked in some invisible game of whack the mole.

Suddenly, the mirror started to glow.

The mad mercenary stopped and looked at it curiously. "Ooh, shiny, shiny." He said in a vaguely hypnotic way.

Then something clicked, and he remembered.

"Bloody knickers of Kratos," He whispered. "It was all real, wasn't it?"

Wade Wilson was not having a good day. but then again, not-good-days were generally his idea of good days. The only other sort he had was nearly-boiled-alive-by-monsters days.

He sighed at the bronze mirror in front of him. He was sitting in a forest, on a rotten log which was now crackling with cracks and was a fortress used by a large army of warlike termites.

He'd been on a quest. Usually, this consisted of him jumping from one bush full of monsters to a bush filled with bigger monsters, but that was demigod norm, wasn't it?

Anyways, he'd found the bronze mirror when it hit him in the head while he sat here. He'd felt like Newton; _Every randomly falling antique object is pushed by a force consisting of mythical Greek gods, and antique object + demigod head = big lump._

He'd been wrestling with it for nearly an hour now, and he had achieved- wait for it- _NOTHING_. A very exciting superpower of _nada_, with the magical arts of _nope_.

Hence the sigh.

"Mirror mirror of the gods," he said hopefully, "Help me escape those accursed Lords?"

Unsurprisingly, the gods did not listen.

"Damn this!" He yelled, smashing it on a rock.

Suddenly, the mirror started to glow.

The Son of Ares looked at it curiously. "Did it work?" He asked cautiously.

Then there was a shift in the air, and he paused.

"There's something very big behind me isn't there."

Something growled.

"Bloody _podex_ of Hitler." He said in a small voice.


	2. Chapter 2

Chiron winced as another lance of pain shot up his hooves. And yes, he had hooves.

Chiron was a centaur, by some accounts _the_ centaur, and was the immortal teacher of all demigods, the children of the Greek gods that were still alive and kicking ass in the modern world, though he wouldn't have phrased it _quite_ like that.

The injuries he'd taken after the battle of Olympus in New York had mostly been healed by Apollo, the god of the sun, medicine and lousy poetry, but he still wasn't completely healed. He had seen the wisdom of not pointing this out to Apollo, just in case. You never know with gods, and Chiron had come far enough to know as much as you cannot know about the gods as one can without, as it were, knowing.

He had received no dreams last night. That worried him. Chiron had been blessed (Or cursed) with dreams even more vivid than those seen by demigods. These were his primary source of contact with Olympus.

He'd gotten used to them, and the absence of one troubled him. He'd heard some campers making a joke about Zeus' underpants, and had paused when he noticed there was a strange lack of any rumblings in the sky, or any swift thunderbolt sent to singe the halfbloods.

Olympus had gone silent.

There was something else, too. It hung in the air. It whispered in the cold corners of the camp. It called at him from the suddenly dull clouds wreathed over Camp.

It was the silence of Olympus holding its breath.

Something was about to happen. Something big, something possibly bad. And it would happen soon. He'd taken measures to double guards around camp and increase security, but the uneasy feeling remained.

_What is wrong?_ He wondered.

His question was answered, though at once he wished he had never asked it.

There was a sudden yell from the arena and shrill shrieks of girls. Chiron paused. Perhaps the Stoll brothers were playing another trick on the others? But no, he could here Travis and Conner shouting with the rest. A cold itch erupted at the back of his neck. Something was quite terribly wrong.

He trotted for a few paces, then broke into a sudden gallop. He resisted the natural centaur impulse to whoop and scream as the wind whistled past; it was at times like these that he understood what drove his wilder cousins, as much as he considered them a fraction _too_ wild.

He arrived at the arena. Some campers ran past him, some made his way to him, clearly not knowing what was going on, and confused. He grabbed a scrawny Athena boy as he tried to run past him.

"What is wrong?" He said in a voice equally soft and commanding.

The boy looked at him with wide eyes. "He just appeared in the middle of the arena and started shooting everywhere!"

That cold itch at the back of his neck grew stronger.

"Who? Who did?"

The boy opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as someone yelled, "Chiron!"

The boy turned in panic and relaxed as he recognized his half-sister, Annabeth. She was running towards them with purpose.

"We're under attack!" She gasped.

Chiron went still. "From whom? Titans? Monsters?"

She shrugged desperately. "I don't know! This guy just appeared there and started shooting at all the practice dummies with his guns! Percy said he'd take him on, so I came to find you… that idiot had to go be heroic," She huffed to a stop.

Chiron was already moving. He cantered into the arena and found himself looking at a scene so impossible even his eons old mind said, _Nope, not possible, bud._

A man in red and black skin tight spandex and a matching mask was waving what looked like a picnic basket around, singing old soprano, as Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon tried to slash at him in vain with his sword. Oh, and the man actually had tears of joy coming from his eyes.

Chiron's mind unfroze, and he smashed his forelegs onto the marble floor with all his strength, then winced, as lances of pain shot up them. Cursed old age. If only he'd been young when he was granted immortality.

Percy stopped, but his eyes were locked on the man who was now looking at Chiron with eyes wider than saucers.

"Why… don't you… die?" Percy managed, sweating.

The man did not answer, but fell into an over dramatic on-his-knees position. "Chiron… you're REAL! Does this mean Hogwarts is real too?"

Annabeth scowled. "What?"

He looked at her distractedly. "Nice body, but blonde. And a bit too bossy and mean looking. Not my type."

Similarly stormy expressions fell on both Percy and Annabeth's face.

"Yes, I'm real," Said Chiron quickly, trying to defuse the situation. "Although I admit, I've never heard of Hogwarts."

The man looked aghast. "Seriously? You spend half your night reading with those silly curlers stuck into your tail and you've never heard of Hogwarts? A shame, ye man-horse, that ye never heard of the wizards and the boy who was expected to die, but lived."

Chiron was stuck once again. How did this stranger know about his late night schedule?

"Do I know you?" He managed.

The man looked shocked. "It's me, Wade!"

Without thinking, Chiron scowled. "Wade who?"

"Wade till ya see what they did to my face!"

He ripped off his mask.

Demigod and centaur alike withdrew in horror. It looked as if someone had played knots and crosses on his face, and after losing, had angrily scratched it with vengeance.

And yet…

Chiron's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you… Wade Wilson?!"

The man grinned, and the smile looked surprisingly beautiful, in contrast to his horrific face, relief and joy mixed in equal amounts.

"And none other."

Chiron slowly trotted over to him. "Follow me, Wade."

The man got up and put on his mask. The mask was a relief after his scarred face. He took him outside, as Percy and Annabeth followed, confused. He let Wade stand next to him as he stood in front of gates of the door. Some campers squealed or fainted as they saw him.

Chiron took the man's hand and raised it.

"Hail, Wade Wilson, son of Ares, the Lordslayer, the killer of a thousand monsters, the Deadpool himself."

There was, at first, silence. Then it erupted into a massive applause, that nobody could later say why they clapped sheered and went generally crazy. But at the time, it was the best thing to do, the only thing to do.

Only Percy saw the tears glistening in the eyes of the masked man.


End file.
